Saturday, February 24, 2018

Advice. Not That You Asked For Any

Writing the first book as a
standalone, then realizing you could write another.

For those of you who opt for option
one, you better find somebody experienced in this multi-book planning
‛cause I ain’t it.

If you hit the payoff end of book 1 and
keep writing, stop whatever you’re doing. Type THE END where book 1
naturally ends, open a new file, and take all the stuff you jammed at
the end of book 1 and put into book 2.

HOW DO YOU KNOW WHEN TO STOP

If you’re a diligent newbie writer,
you’ve purchased (or checked out of your library) a few books on
writing: how to write novels, how to write scenes, how to write
romances, how to write memoirs, etc. Now, look back a few words and
note the word “scenes.” That’s key to a series. A series book
is one big giant scene. There may be other scenes to follow that
biggie, but don’t go there unless you’re James Mitchener’s
reincarnation and plan to write the entire history of the world in a
single volume.

The elements of a BIG scene (e.g., an
entire book) are the same as scenes within chapters, and chapters
within books.

A standalone book has beginning,
middle, and end (sunset, fade to black, happily ever after).

A series book has beginning, middle,
and end with a transition setting up the next BIG scene (e.g., the
second book).

You may not know you’re writing a
series when you start out, but you should have a good feel whether
there is more. You can imagine a reader saying, “And then what
happened?”

WHAT I ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY HATE
ABOUT (SOME) SERIES

You might be merrily reading along,
enjoying the tale, admiring the writer’s skill (not too many
typos), and prepping yourself for the big payoff at the end. But when
you get to the end, there is no payoff. You’re left frozen in time.
The villain holding the sharp blade sneaking up behind the hero, he
brings the blade up and is just about to strike and.....nothing. The
writer figured you’d be so enthralled with finding out what happens
next that they’ll surely buy your next book.

Nuh uh. The only time this is a valid
ending is if you’re in the 1950’s, munching popcorn in the first
row watching another episode of Buck Rogers. A cliffhanger is all
well and good if you know going into the deal, and you’ve laid down
your quarter to enter the theater that Buck most likely won’t get
knifed by the villain, and you’re perfectly okay to come back next
week to see how said villain is thwarted.

Thing is, that movie house is also
offering a feature film with a beginning, middle, and end. That’s
why you paid your quarter to be satisfied by an ending that naturally
progressed throughout the narrative.

WHY SHOULD YOU CARE?

You should care because you’ve pissed
me off. Yeah, I’m just one person, so my opinion doesn’t matter.
That’s entirely true. But do you really believe I’m the one and
ONLY person in the entire world that holds that opinion? You’re
sadly mistaken. I’m special, but not that special. If I think that
way, then a whole lot of people—potential buyers—think the same.
You’ve just lost your audience.

Think about your own life. You live
your life in stages. The end of one stage suggests the next, but the
next stage is its own part of your life. Sometimes, your life takes a
surprising turn. You were headed toward point A, but somehow or other
events led you to point B instead. If you could map out your whole
life (or, say, your parents could do it for you), you and everybody
around you would be bored silly.

So, transitions can be smooth:

You graduate from high school and
continue on to the college where you had applied to become a rocket
scientist.

Or rocky:

You graduate high school, but you met
this guy in the summer and he’s part of a biker gang, which you
thought totally cool, so you blew off college and rode the back seat
of a Harley across the country.

In either case, the graduation from
High School is the natural ending point of that stage. But if you’re
sneakily planning to write a series, you briefly mention admiring the
black leather jacket on that dude who rode by the graduation ceremony
on his Harley. You lock eyes with him. He grins and winks. You feel a
little tingly, but shake it off to march into the next phase.

Uh, oh. We’re planning a series,
right? Well, you might pack all your bags, have a going away party,
and even start the drive to your college of choice. You spot the dude
on the Harley as you pass by the diner, but you just drive on.

CUT, WRAP, AND PUT A FORK IN IT

But you now have a satisfying end to
book 1 with a hint of the events of book 2, but you’re not leaving
in the middle with the villain stabbing the hero in the back. You
(the main character here, of course) may just keep on driving to
college. That could be another book in the series. Or you could pull
a U-turn in the road and head back to, um, grab a burger at the
diner. Yeah, a burger and a handful of tight jeans.

A fork in the road can act as a
transition between books in a series. At the end of book 1, you
present some possibilities, but you have ended this stage (or book).
Book 2 picks up with one of the forks you have offered in book 1.